


Better Than Your Dreams

by Amy_de_lABC



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dr. Seuss - Freeform, F/M, Fluff, RP, Roleplay, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-24 23:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16185350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amy_de_lABC/pseuds/Amy_de_lABC
Summary: You have a new friend to role play online with. But this friend is a little different from the usual player...





	Better Than Your Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> Setting: Some unidentified point in the future where things have settled down and the boys work pretty normal cases again. HOWEVER, Cas hasn’t had his pop culture education-by-heavenly-scribe, because his cluelessness is one of my favorite things about him.
> 
> Author’s Note: Thanks so much to Elle (http://soulofawinchester.tumblr.com) for being my Encyclopedia of All Things “Supernatural,” for providing me with a headcanon for the location of Cas’ room, and for helping me with Dean’s character—I’m so glad to have you, my dear Huntress! <3 Thanks also to my cousin, who had the original idea for this fic.
> 
> Also, the way AO3 messes with my CSS means that there are some extra line breaks and some slightly odd formatting. I hope it's not too inconvenient. I've fixed it up the best I could.
> 
> Disclaimer: “Supernatural” is not mine, nor is Cas, as much as I wish he were.
> 
> Y/F/N = Your Friend’s Name (a friend who would cover for you if you had to lie to your parents)

**“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.” –Dr. Seuss**

* * *

You smiled and logged on to your computer. You couldn’t wait to get back to your role playing. You had found a new friend to play with, and, to your delight, he (somewhat to your surprise, he had revealed that he was a guy on your first day playing together; you had assumed most of the RP-ers you met were fangirls) was playing Castiel, and you were able to play yourself. It was so much fun having your character interact with Cas, who you usually played. You had a giant crush on the angel, and you hadn’t had the courage yet to ask if your friend, whose username was Castiel91808, would be okay with playing Cas and you together (you felt it was a bit more awkward with a guy, because you knew other fangirls would understand, but you weren’t sure if he would), but you were still very much enjoying the game.

 

 

_(Hey, you here?)_

you typed.

The answer came back almost immediately.

 

 

_(Yes. Would you like to play more?)_

 

 

_(Absolutely! :))_

 

 

_(Where were we? Do you remember?)_

 

 

_(We’d just gotten back to the motel.)_

 

 

_(Ah, yes.)_

And the game started again. Your characters were on a hunt for what you had decided would be a werewolf-vampire hybrid, though they didn’t know that yet. Sam and Dean were absent in your RP, which, of course, was difficult. Usually you worked around that by pretending that they were in the bunker while you and Cas hunted on your own. Sometimes you added in little conversations with them, where you played Sam and Castiel91808 took Dean. But mostly you left them out, focusing on your own characters.

 

 

  
_Y/N: *disgusted, I sit down on the bed in the motel room* I don’t know, Cas. We haven’t learned much of anything, have we? And the monster, whatever it is, is killing more people every day._

 

 

  
_Castiel: *sighs* We have not learned a great deal, no. But don’t worry, Y/N. *sits down next to you* We will find out what this is._

 

 

_Y/N: I sure hope so. *smiles up at you*_

 

 

_Castiel: *smiles back* We will. *takes your hand, squeezing it gently*_

You paused, reading that last line. You found that your heart was beating much faster than it ought to be, considering the fact that this was role play, not to mention the nature of the gesture. It was probably just friendly, after all. That could happen, right? But maybe…maybe you should ask Castiel91808 about a possible romance? You weren’t sure. And you wanted things to be fair; would he want you to play as his favorite character, so he could get a chance at a love story? Did guys even do that? Should you offer, or wait to see if he asked? And if he wanted that, would you be able to play whoever he wanted you to? You didn’t want to play his love interest badly, since he played yours so well.

Uncertain, you decided, as you had before, to just keep your mouth shut. You didn’t want to make things awkward.

 

 

_Y/N: Thanks, Cas. *grins at you*_

There was a long pause. You frowned, but decided maybe he’d had to go do something, and pulled up a fanfiction to read while you waited.

After several more minutes, your computer dinged, and you went back to the messenger window and looked at his answer.

 

 

_Castiel: (Would you be interested in a bit of romance between the characters? I am willing to do that, if you wish.)_

You stared at the screen, hardly able to believe your eyes. Was he serious? Had he guessed about your feelings for Cas? You didn’t think you’d mind too much if that were the case, considering that he seemed not to be bothered by it. But you _really_ wished you could know what he was thinking right now.

Finally, after a few moments of complete blanking out, you recovered yourself. If Castiel91808 was willing to do the romance thing, then why on earth were you hesitating? Wasn’t this exactly what you’d wanted?

 

 

_(Sure!)_

you typed, then hesitated, not wanting to seem too eager. You deleted it after a moment and replaced it with,

_(Sure, if you want. I mean, that could be fun. :))_

You read over it again, gauging the feel of the reply, then decided that it was good, and hit “Enter” with trembling fingers.

Your breath was coming short as you waited for an answer. After what felt like an eternity, it came in.

 

 

_(All right. :))_

And then:

 

 

_Castiel: Y/N…_

You quickly put in your response.

 

 

_Y/N: Yeah, Cas?_

 

 

_Castiel: I…I find that I care about you…very much._

 

 

_Y/N: *looks away shyly, blushing* Really?_

 

 

_Castiel: Yes. *reaches out, putting his fingers under your chin and turning your face towards him, searching your expression*_

 

 

_Y/N: *smiling and blushing* I…care about you, too, Cas._

 

 

_Castiel: *smiles widely* Really?_

 

 

_Y/N: Yeah. *smiles back*_

 

 

_Castiel: I am glad to hear it. *leans forward carefully to kiss you*_

You had to stop typing for several minutes, as you were squeeing too much to reply. Finally, you were able to settle back down to the role play, and replied fairly simply.

 

 

_Y/N: *kisses back*_

 

 

_Castiel: *breaks away and smiles down at you*_

 

 

_Y/N: *smiles back*_

You felt like you should be doing more than just responding to what Cas did with something similar, but your brain felt a bit fuzzy from the kiss (you were conveniently ignoring the fact that it was a fictional kiss. It was certainly having the same effect on you as a real one might have).

 

 

_Castiel: *a little uncertain* Was that…the correct thing to do?_

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was such a Cas thing to say—Castiel91808 had his character down exactly—and you found the angel’s cluelessness completely adorable.

 

 

_Y/N: *smiles at how cute he is* Yes, Cas. It was. *blushes a little* I liked it…a lot._

 

 

_Castiel: I did, too. *hesitates* Would you like to do it again?_

 

 

_Y/N: *blushes more* Yes, please._

 

 

  
_Castiel: *kisses you again*_

 

 

  
_Y/N: *I kiss back, my hands going to his face, then arms coming around his neck*_

 

 

  
_Castiel: *pulls back after a moment* You are…a wonderful human being, Y/N._

 

 

  
_Y/N: *smiles, blushing again* You’re amazing, Cas._

You hesitated, then added a small note:

 

 

_(Sorry for all the blushing. Too much? If it is, I can tone it down.)_

The reply came back almost instantly.

 

 

  
_(No, not at all. Castiel thinks it is cute.)_

Now you were blushing in real life, at the thought of Cas thinking you were cute.

 

 

  
_(Okay :))_

, you typed, and waited.

 

 

  
_Castiel: Thank you. *presses his fingers to your cheek* That color is lovely._

 

 

  
_Y/N: *I blush more, leaning into his touch, closing my eyes and smiling*_

 

 

  
_Castiel: *strokes your cheek*_

 

 

  
_Y/N: *contented sigh*_

You were grinning like a lunatic at your computer. This was _so much fun_. And you were still feeling almost as if it were really happening, which made your head spin a bit.

There was a pause, and then the reply, 

  
_(I apologize, but I need to go. Something has come up.)_

You sighed unhappily, not wanting to give up the fluff when it had just started, but typed back,

  
_(Okay. Do you know when you’ll be on next?)_

  
_(Possibly not for a day, or perhaps two, unfortunately.)_

Disappointed, you waited a moment, scolding yourself for being selfish, and then responded.

 

 

_(Okay. Too bad. :( I’ll try and be on as much as I can so I can catch you when you get back, ok?)_

 

 

  
_(All right.)_

, he sent back, and then,

  
_(Goodbye. I will come back as soon as possible.)_

 

 

_(Bye)_

, you answered, and then went to read fanfiction, keeping your messenger window open, just in case.

* * *

True to his word, Castiel91808 came back two and a half days later. Or rather, he came back about two days later, but you were out of the house. You returned and immediately checked your messages, finding, much to your delight, that his status was set to “Available” and there was a new message in your game.

_(I can play again whenever you’d like.)_

, it said.

You grinned broadly and sat down.

 

 

_(Hiiii! I hope you’re still here! I’m back now.)_

 

 

_(I’m here.)_

, was sent a minute later.

 

 

_(Yay! I’m so glad!)_

Then you added, a bit worried, 

  
_(Is everything okay? You had to go pretty suddenly.)_

 

 

_(I’m fine. That happens occasionally, because of my work.)_

 

 

_(Oh, good. I’m glad you’re okay.)_

You really were. You might not have met him in person, but you were getting to know him reasonably well through the side conversations you had as you played. He reminded you quite a bit of Cas, which, you supposed, was probably why he could play the character so well.

  
_(What’s your work?)_  


you added after a minute, curious.

There was a pause, and then he replied,

  
_(This and that. It varies.)_

You were a little surprised—you had assumed, from things he had said before, that he had a steady job, but it sounded like he was more of a drifter. Maybe he was just trying to find the right job for him, though, or maybe, with the job market the way it was, he had bad luck.

 

 

_(Oh, okay. :))_

you said, not wanting him to think you were judging him.

 

 

_(Have you had a good day?)_

he asked, and you responded, telling him about the classes you had gone to. You continued to chat for a while, talking about your lives. Then he suggested,

  
_(Would you like to play now?)_

 

 

_(Sure :))_

, was your immediate reply.

 

 

_(All right :))_

, he typed back, and the game began again.

* * *

The fluff continued in between hunts, much to your joy. Every time Cas kissed you, you felt light-headed. Every time he complimented you, a smile bloomed on your face. It was absolutely ridiculous, because it was all fake, of course. But you loved it.

Before you knew it, several weeks had passed, during which you had managed to carve out some time for playing nearly every day. You were feeling closer and closer to Castiel91808, and he was on your mind more and more when you weren’t actually playing with him. You wondered what he looked like, if he really talked the way he typed (a bit formally), what his voice sounded like… And since he continued to remind you of Cas, it was becoming harder and harder to separate the two in your mind. You had to fight yourself because your brain kept trying to just call him “Cas.” The lines between reality and fiction were blurring, and you found yourself thinking of him as Cas more often than not, despite your attempts otherwise.

This, of course, was causing problems in your emotional state. Your feelings for Cas were leaking over onto your friend. No matter how many times you scolded yourself for this, you were discovering, much to your chagrin, that your heart leapt whenever you got to talk to him, even if you were just chatting as yourselves. It was typical, you thought bitterly, that the first person you might feel for romantically who was _not_ a fictional character was still nearly as unattainable as one.

Crushes aside, however, the two of you were becoming fast friends, finding more and more things that you had in common, and talking more and more often as yourselves. The RP continued, of course, and you were always happy when it did, because that meant more fluff with Cas. But at the same time, you really enjoyed talking about other things with Castiel91808. He told you about his love of nature and interest in psychology, and you talked about your school and activities with your family and friends.

You were chatting one day about the movie you’d gone to the previous night (he hadn’t seen it, but didn’t mind spoilers, so you were filling him in on the plot) when you started to get irritated—which had been happening a lot lately—at the pace of typing. It was so _slow!_ Real talking would be so much faster.

You sighed, resigning yourself to having to type everything, and went to write out another paragraph—and stopped, your eyes caught by the little symbol on the side of your screen: a “Call” button. The program you’d been using to instant message each other also made video calls.

For several frozen minutes, you stared at that button. Not only would it save you from getting carpal tunnel syndrome, which you were liable to do if this continued, but it would answer all those pesky questions that continued to revolve around your head. You would be able to see his face, and hear him. You’d get to talk as real people.

Fingers trembling, you typed out a question, and, not letting yourself think about it too much, hit the “Enter” key.

 

 

_(Hey, do you want to really talk? We can make calls with this thing.)_

Then you waited with bated breath for an answer.

 _Ding!_ went your computer, and your eyes flew to the new line of text.

 

 

_(If you’d like to, I am certainly not against it.)_

You couldn’t help the smile that broke out on your face.

 

 

_(Sounds good. Gimme a second :))_

you typed, and then moved your mouse over to the “Call” symbol. Taking a deep breath, you pressed the mouse button.

The computer made a ringing sound, once, twice, three times…and a video popped up on the screen.

Your first thought was a garbled, _CasrealCaswhathowwhat?!_ Then your rational side kicked in, telling you, _Impossible._ You felt that this was probably true. But then, how…?

Maybe, you decided, he was just somebody who happened to look (exactly) like Cas. Including facial structure. Or maybe he didn’t want you to know what he really looked like, so he was wearing a wig and colored contacts to try and hide it. You frowned, sensing something missing from that explanation, though your poor, shock-scrambled brain couldn’t quite pinpoint what. Then you came up with what seemed like a good solution: He was a superfan who felt so close to Cas that he had had plastic surgery to look like him, and dyed his hair and used the aforementioned contact lenses as well. Yes, you decided, that must be it.

It was at about this point that some distant corner of your brain noticed that he was looking back at you with interest—which made sense; you had wondered about him, so maybe he had also wondered about you—but also surprise…which made less sense. As if reading your mind, he spoke.

“I…had not realized that we would be able to see one another during this conversation,” he said, and you wondered frantically if someone could have vocal surgery, because he sounded _exactly_ like Cas. Maybe it was possible, though you’d never heard of it before. Or maybe he just happened to have a similar voice, and had trained himself to sound gravelly like Cas did, and like the actor had.

“I—I…” You found yourself completely unable to form words, and simply gaped at him.

He sighed, looking faintly worried. “I apologize. This is not at all the way I had expected this conversation would go. As I said, I had not understood that you would be able to see me, so…I thought that you would not be able to tell who I am.”

That got a response out of you. Before you knew it, you had blurted out, “But you can’t be! I mean, you’re not real! I mean…”

He gave a tiny smile that was so very _Cas_ that your breath caught. “I assure you that I am very real.”

“No…no, b-but…you’re not…” you stammered.

The guy who claimed to be Cas sighed again. “Would you like some evidence in favor of the idea?”

You nodded dumbly.

“Very well,” he said. “Give me a moment.” Then he left the screen.

You waited.

A few minutes later, he came back with another man in tow, and you felt faint. As if it wasn’t enough to have someone who looked and sounded exactly like Cas talking to you, he had now brought in a guy who could have been twin brother to Dean.

“Hey, there. I see you’ve met Cas,” said this new apparition, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you, even though you had half-expected this, because _his_ voice was exactly right, too. Right down to the slightest hint of a Southern accent.

You must have looked as dizzy as you felt, because Cas— _not_ Cas, you told yourself firmly, but at this point, you only half-believed yourself—stepped forward, looking concerned. “Are you all right?” he asked, and you nodded, then stopped, because that worsened the room’s spinning.

You only vaguely heard the conversation after that. Dean—or his twin, or whatever he was—seemed to be saying something about a shock, and maybe the Cas man had put too much on you at once. Cas-not-Cas replied with what he’d told you earlier, that he hadn’t realized it was a video chat, and if he had he wouldn’t have agreed. Then the Dean guy said that he had been planning to tell the other guy to ease you into it and then ask to meet you, and (sounding affectionately exasperated, you thought, though you weren’t sure) that he might’ve known Cas’ lookalike would agree to something like this before he had gotten a chance to let him know that. The idea that this person who thought he was Cas had apparently wanted to meet you in real life made a new wave of dizziness sweep over you. You heard a voice say, sounding urgent, “Cas—can you zap to her? She looks like she’s gonna faint. You could heal her, right?” and then a different voice reply, “Yes, I think so,” and a noise that sounded like a bird. You had just wondered what a bird was doing in your house when you felt strong arms come around you, and a sensation like a huge windstorm blowing past you, while your stomach turned for some reason.

Then you were somewhere other than your house, staring up into the concerned face of the man who apparently really was Castiel, and that was too much for your tenuous grasp on your consciousness.

* * *

You woke, and immediately found yourself looking into that same face, which still seemed worried. Everything came rushing back, and you gasped and looked around frantically. You were most definitely _not_ in your bedroom, where you had been before. You wondered if you had imagined the sudden trip somewhere else. Perhaps this was all some sort of elaborate joke…or maybe Castiel91808 was a psycho who had tracked you down and kidnapped you.

You eyed him doubtfully. He didn’t _look_ crazy. And he hadn’t seemed crazy when you were talking to him online. But… How else could you explain the change in your location? Moments before your fainting spell, you had been sure that he really was Cas, and had transported you here instantaneously. But that couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. At best, this was a trick. At worst, you were about to be killed or something by two crazies who thought they were from a TV show.

Speaking of its being _two_ people…where was the Dean lookalike? He didn’t appear to be in the room with you. You couldn’t decide if that made you nervous or relieved. On the one hand, that meant one fewer man to fight if necessary. On the other hand, it meant you were alone with the Cas guy.

Taking a deep breath and gathering every last scrap of courage you had, you blurted out, “Who are you?”

Not-Cas frowned. “I told you who I am. Or…I suppose I did not, but I was fairly certain that you had guessed. Was I mistaken?”

“If you mean the fact that you apparently think you’re really Cas, then no, you weren’t _mistaken_ ,” you said, trying to sound brave. “But since Cas isn’t real, that’s not gonna fly.”

He tilted his head and squinted, giving you that same look of confusion that you’d always found so adorable on the angel. Your heart jumped, and you wanted to scream at it.

“I don’t understand. What does flying have to do with my reality?” he asked, and you swallowed hard, feeling sick between the butterflies and the dread in your stomach.

“Look, I don’t know if this is a joke, or if you really think you’re Cas, but I want to know why I’m here,” you said, surprised by the fact that you hadn’t stammered yourself to a halt by now, or fainted again. Apparently you had more courage than you’d realized.

“He _is_ Cas,” said a voice from the doorway, and you turned to see the Dean guy. Your breath hitched in fear—now there were two of them again—and you unthinkingly scooted back on the couch you were on, away from him.

A small sigh came from the Cas-looking one. “Dean, perhaps we ought to simply take her back home. She seems too afraid. I did not realize…”

His friend shook his head. “Nah, Cas. She’ll catch up. Just…show her some of your mojo.”

“I already did,” said not-Cas. “I flew her here. Surely if she were going to believe us, she would have done so after that.”

“Well, but she was gonna faint. I bet, now she’s awake, she doesn’t trust what she saw. Do you?” he asked, directing the question towards you, and your head shook automatically. You immediately wanted to slap yourself for encouraging him.

He grinned, looking as if he knew what you were thinking, and said to the other man, “See? Just give her another demonstration or two, and she’ll get it, I bet. From what you told me about her, she’s probably pretty smart.”

That gave you pause. Cas— _no,_ not _Cas_ , you thought desperately—had told him about you? You weren’t even sure what you thought about that anymore. Your mind was all jumbled.

The guy who was _not_ Cas, no matter what you were starting to think, seemed to consider that. Then he said, “I believe she is, yes. And I suppose that it cannot hurt to try again to convince her.” He turned to you. “I recognize that you are afraid, and I swear to you that I will not hurt you. Will you allow me to try to convince you that I am who I say I am? If you don’t believe me after I’ve tried, I promise I will take you back home.”

You thought about this, and decided that even if he was lying, you probably shouldn’t say no; what if you upset him and he went wacko on you? You could only hope that he would keep those promises. You nodded weakly, and he seemed to relax slightly.

“Thank you,” he said. “Dean, do you have any suggestions as to what I ought to do?”

Dean’s twin looked thoughtful, then said, “Well, you could try zapping again. But maybe that’d be too much for her… What about the mind-reading bit? You said you can do that, right?”

Not-Cas nodded. “I can. Though I normally prefer to ask permission…” He looked at you again. “Will you allow me to enter your thoughts? You can control what you are thinking at the time, and I will not go any deeper than the surface.”

You figured this couldn’t hurt. After all, he couldn’t really do that—unless, of course, he actually _was_ Cas. And if that was the case, you had nothing to worry about, because the real Cas wouldn’t hurt you unless you were a demon or something, which you knew you weren’t… You suddenly realized what you were thinking and shook yourself out of this crazy idea. Then you responded quietly, “O-okay.”

The man nodded and put two fingers on your forehead. You decided that if you were going to do this, you might as well do it properly. Just like you had done in “mind-reading” games as a child, you came up with the most random things you could. _I like pizza_ , you thought. _And purple-spotted elephants are lots of fun._

He did that head tilt at you. “I have not yet tried pizza, though Dean assures me that it is delicious. And I know for a fact that purple-spotted elephants do not exist. It would certainly be interesting if they did, however. I would like to see one, were that the case.”

You heard the Dean man snort, feeling your breath speed up and get shallow. How could he have—? It wasn’t possible. It just wasn’t possible.

His fingers were still resting on your forehead as he waited for an answer. You noticed with some horror that his touch was affecting you much more than it should, considering he was probably a mental case (maybe even a serial killer who was after fans of “Supernatural”) who had kidnapped you.

But _was_ he? Either he had just made the most ridiculously accurate guess in the world, with the tiniest odds ever, or he had _read your mind._

“That’s not possible,” you heard yourself say. And then—and you could have kicked yourself—“Do it again.”

A faint smile crossed his lips. “Whenever you’re ready,” he answered, and you closed your eyes, just in case something was somehow written on your face, and thought carefully: _The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plain. Four score and seven years ago, our fathers brought forth upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal. Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Luke, I am your father._

He had been looking progressively more confused throughout this litany. At the last sentence, however, his face cleared a bit, and he announced, “Dean has told me about that last one. It is from the _Star Wars_ movies, correct?”

You gaped.

“And as for the rest,” he continued, “I fail to see why plains in Spain would have any more rain than any other location in that country. No new nations were created eighty-seven years ago. And I don’t understand why you are asking a sheep if it has any wool, as sheep do not speak.”

The other guy—Dean? Could it really be?—had started choking with laughter at some point during this little speech, and sounded like he was enjoying himself immensely. The guy who might be Cas was looking at you, apparently waiting for an answer. And you… You were looking from one to the other, mouth slightly open, unable to utter a word.

And then a giant of a man with a ridiculous amount of hair came wandering into the room, asking, “Dean, what’s so funny?”

And you couldn’t help but believe.

* * *

It was some time later before you were able to collect yourself. Dean had gotten control of his laughter after a little, and had explained things to Sam, who was now sitting on the floor, looking up at you on the couch (apparently his height was in his legs). Dean was lounging sideways in an armchair a few feet away. And Cas— _Cas!_ —was sitting on the kitchen chair that he had been on since you woke up, watching you with an expression that seemed surprisingly soft for an Angel of the Lord.

It was all very surreal.

You were pelting the three of them with questions, which they answered good-naturedly. Did the supernatural world really exist? And they really hunted things that went bump in the night? Did salt and holy water actually work on demons? When Cas had to leave suddenly because of “his job,” was he hunting? What was it like? And then, having looked at your surroundings: Was this the Men of Letters bunker? (Having had an affirmative answer to that last question, you insisted they take you on a tour later, staring at the room around you with new eyes in the meantime. When you picked up the nearest couch cushion and examined it closely, fascinated even by that, Dean and Sam started to laugh, and Cas smiled. You looked up, and couldn’t help laughing at yourself, though you were still very interested.)

Gradually, your flood of questions slowed to a trickle, and then dried up, until—wonder of wonders—you couldn’t think of anything else to ask. It was at that point, when you had fallen silent for more than about ten seconds, that Dean glanced at Cas, a big grin stretching across his face, and asked you, “Hey, since you seem so interested, why don’t you stay with us for a while?”

You looked over at him, surprised, and said slowly, “I…I don’t know. I mean, I’d love to, but what would I tell my parents?”

Dean shrugged. Sam looked thoughtful for a minute, then suggested, “Tell them you’re staying with friends. It’s the truth.”

“Well, yeah, but if I don’t tell them _who_ I’m with, or _where_ …”

“Huh,” he said. “Uh, would you be able to get one of your friends they know to cover for you?”

You thought about that. “I…I guess so. I mean, maybe Y/F/N would do it. But I’d have to tell (him/her) something else…and I really don’t want to lie to (him/her)…”

Sam seemed to be thinking again. Then he said, “Well, maybe you could just tell them you’re going to (his/her) house, and leave (him/her) out of it entirely. I mean, do you think they’d call (him/her) or anything?”

“No,” you said after a second. “If they needed something, they’d call my cell phone. The only reason they would call Y/F/N would be if they thought something was up.”

Dean grinned at you. “Well, then, don’t let them think that.”

You hesitated, but then nodded. “I guess that’s the best option,” you conceded. Then you said, “But…hey, Cas, would you mind zapping me back to my house, so I can talk to them?”

Cas shook his head. “I will do so, if you wish,” he replied, and you smiled at him, heart fluttering when he smiled back.

“Thanks,” you said, and he nodded to you.

“You are welcome. Do you want to do it now, or wait?”

You hesitated. “Better get it over with,” you decided after a minute.

“All right.” He came over. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you told him, and turned to Sam and Dean. “See you in a—” But then Cas’ fingers were on your forehead, making your heart beat quickly, and you were suddenly back in your bedroom at home.

You staggered a bit as you landed, and he reached out to steady you, mild concern flashing across his features. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, I think,” you said, regaining your balance, and trying valiantly to ignore the way your stomach had flipped as he had set his hands on your shoulders.

He didn’t let go for a long moment, searching your face, apparently trying to decide if you were telling the truth. (You suspected that he had picked up this habit because the Winchesters so often said they were fine when they weren’t.) Then he nodded and took his hands away, to your disappointment.

 _Come on_ , you told yourself. _This is stupid. He’s an angel! He’s even less likely to have feelings for you than he was when he was this random guy on the Internet._

“Are you certain you’re all right?” you heard him ask, pulling you out of your self-scolding.

You nodded, smiling at him, unable to help thinking how sweet he was to be worried. “Yeah, I’m sure. Thanks.”

He smiled back a little, and then said, “I assume you would like me to stay here and wait for you?”

“Uh, yeah,” you responded. “Please.”

He nodded. “I will, then.”

“Thanks,” you grinned, and headed out of the room to talk to your parents.

* * *

Mission accomplished, you returned to your room to find Cas standing exactly where he had been before, looking around curiously. You shut the door, lest your mom or dad walk by to find you talking with a guy they didn’t know, or even see the two of you disappear into thin air, and then turned to find him looking at you.

“Did they believe you?” he asked.

You nodded. “I’m pretty sure they did.” Frowning a little, you added, “I hate lying to them. I wish I could tell them the truth.”

Cas smiled gently at you. “Honesty is an admirable trait,” he told you.

“Thanks,” you said, feeling your cheeks warm slightly.

He nodded, and then asked, “Shall we go, then?”

You nodded back. “Okay,” you said, and steeled yourself for his touch, hoping that that would help you control its effects. It didn’t, and you hoped your blush hadn’t gotten more obvious as his fingers once again fell on your forehead. Judging by Sam and Dean’s expressions as you arrived in the bunker again, though, it had.

“Did it work?” was all Dean asked, although you had been half-expecting him to comment on the color in your cheeks.

“Yeah.” You were hyper aware that Cas was still standing very close to you, even though his hand had slipped down to his side again.

“Great.” Sam grinned at you. “Why don’t we get you set up with a room?”

“Okay,” you answered, and followed him when he headed down the hall. Somewhat to your surprise, Cas trailed along behind, and Dean caught up with you as you left the room, too.

Sam led you to another hallway, with open doors leading off of it at intervals. “This is Dean’s room,” he told you, gesturing to the first one on the right, and then, pointing to the last one on the left, “That one’s me.” He grinned. “Cas doesn’t sleep, but he’s got a room anyway—this one around the corner.”

You nodded.

“So,” said Sam, “You can pretty much pick any one that’s not one of those. Feel free to explore them first.”

You looked at him in surprise, having expected to be assigned a room. The way he was talking, it felt more like you were choosing a permanent living space than a guest room that you’d use for a few days. “Uh…thanks,” you answered after a minute, and tentatively poked your head into the open doorway nearest you.

You were immediately in love. It was really old and dusty, and fairly bare, but the few furnishings there were were exactly to your taste.

“Can I have this one?” you asked Sam, and he nodded. You looked over to Dean, hoping he didn’t mind either, and were surprised to see a smirk playing on his face. You frowned a little, your gaze going back to the room, and then realized suddenly that it happened to be the one right across from Cas’. You blushed again, avoiding Dean’s knowing gaze.

“Thanks,” you told Sam quietly, and noticed that had a tiny bit of that same smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You hadn’t realized that the Winchesters could be so _annoying._

* * *

The next few days were some of the best of your life. You got your tour of the bunker, and were enraptured by the extensive library of lore books, some of which you took to your room to peruse with fascination. You marveled at the map table in the main room, and watched the boys show off their skills in the shooting gallery (they really were as good as they seemed on the show). You introduced Cas to “The Princess Bride,” with much glee and reciting of lines along with the characters (to your delight, Sam and Dean joined in with some of this, including Dean doing a spirited rendition of the part where Inigo Montoya is fighting the six-fingered man, and both Winchesters acting out the scene between Vizzini and the Man in Black, with Sam as Westley and Dean as the Sicilian. They admitted, when pushed, that they used to enact the scene when they were kids. Watching them, you laughed until your sides ached). At one point, you asked the boys if they knew why the show had portrayed them in a different universe than this (that was after you were reminded of “The French Mistake” by a fanfiction you were reading). After some thought, Sam suggested that the people running the show might not know that it was all real.

“That makes sense,” you said. “But what about the actors? How did they get actors who look and talk and act exactly like you guys?”

Sam frowned. “Dean? Ideas?”

Dean thought for a few minutes, then shrugged. “Nope. I got nothin’.”

“Cas?” you asked, curious as to what he might say.

“It is a mystery,” he said gravely.

“Does it really matter?” Dean wanted to know.

You grinned. “You’ve got me there,” you admitted. “I guess it doesn’t. I was just wondering.”

* * *

The time passed quickly. It seemed like one minute you were taking the tour soon after your arrival, and the next, it was your last day. You wanted to make good use of that day. You thought about calling your parents to try and extend your stay, but you didn’t think they’d want you gone for any longer than you had already been. You were lucky that school had let out during the weeks you were getting to know Cas online, so that you had time off now.

On the morning of the day you were meant to go home, you woke fairly early, determined to take advantage of every second. You climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the kitchen, wanting to surprise your friends with breakfast.

You hummed as you got out bacon and eggs, and started some waffle batter. Cooking, you started to sing softly. By the time Sam got back from his run, your voice was normal volume, and you were really getting into it.

“Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, oh, what a beautiful day,” you sang. “I’ve got a beautiful feelin’ everythin’s goin’ my—EEE!” you shrieked, as the moose snuck up behind you and pinched your sides, tickling you.

He started laughing, while you glared at him, hands firmly on your hips, both as a sign of your annoyance and so that you could protect yourself quickly if he thought to do it again. After about ten seconds of this, Dean came flying into the kitchen, his gun in one hand, hair looking like a porcupine.

“Y/N? What’s up? You okay?” he demanded, bloodshot eyes staring wildly around.

Before you could answer, Cas appeared in the kitchen with a sudden fluttering of wings. “Y/N?” he asked, sounding alarmed. “Are you all right? I thought I heard you scream.”

“I’m fine…except for the part where _Sammy_ here decided to scare me,” you groused, still glaring at the laughing Sam.

“I just—t-tickled her,” gasped the culprit, finally getting ahold of himself.

Dean shook his head and sighed in mock exasperation. “Really, Sammy? You got me out of bed for that?”

Sam grinned unrepentantly at him. “Early bird gets the worm,” he said.

Cas looked at Sam. “I don’t understand. Dean is not a bird…and he does not, to the best of my knowledge, want to have a worm.” His curious gaze moved to Dean. “Do you?”

Dean sighed, apparently somewhat exasperated. “No, Cas. I don’t.”

The angel nodded, looking satisfied. “That is what I thought. Also…” he trailed off.

“What is it, Cas?” You didn’t mind fielding his questions at all, and you could tell Dean didn’t want to just now.

“I was merely wondering…what is “tickling”?” he asked.

You stared at him. “Oh, you poor, deprived angel!” you said dramatically. “You don’t know what tickling is!”

“I’ll show you,” said Sam mischievously, and before you could do anything, he had poked your sides again.

“Eek!” you squealed, unable to help yourself. “Sam!”

Sam swept a bow towards Cas, as if he were an applauding audience. “And that, Cas, is tickling.”

The angel was watching with interest. “I see,” he said. “Like this?” He reached out and also poked your sides.

You squeaked, and Dean snickered.

“Great, Sam, now you’ve taught Cas to do it as well,” you complained.

Sam grinned at you. “My work here is done,” he said.

“Not quite,” Dean told him, and turned to Cas. “Watch this,” he said, and advanced on you.

You gave him a wide-eyed look, then backed away slowly. “Dean…don’t…” you pleaded.

“Dean, perhaps you should not—” Cas started, looking worried, but he was interrupted by your squeal and laughter, as Dean had backed you into a corner.

“D-Dean!” you gasped, between giggles. “St-stop!” All this achieved, however, was to make Dean tickle you more, and Sam come over to help. “Guys!”

Cas’ gravelly voice came through the sound of your shrieking. “I don’t understand, Y/N. You ask them to stop, yet you are laughing, and seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Dean stopped tickling you abruptly. “Yeah, _Y/N_ ,” he teased. “Why don’t you tell us if you’re enjoying yourself?”

You mock glared at him. Cas had put you into an impossible situation. If you said you weren’t having fun, he would tell the boys to stop, but if you told him you were, Dean and Sam would never let it go. “I…” you said, still gasping for air, and using that to stall for time. “I don’t…” You sighed after a minute, giving in. “Yeah, I’m having fun.”

“I am glad,” Cas announced, nodding seriously.

Dean laughed. “I knew it!” he shouted dramatically, and started tickling you again, as did Sam.

You giggled and squirmed, trying fruitlessly to break away, and through your blurry eyes, you saw Cas standing watching you with a smile.

Needless to say, breakfast burned, because you were all having too much fun to remember about it. You gave up and ate cereal instead, then volunteered to wash the dishes, since you had started making the breakfast, so it was kind of your fault. The boys, being boys, agreed happily to this plan and went off to do something or other. You started singing quietly again as you ran water into the blackened skillet and began to scrub at it.

“Oh, what a beautiful mornin’, oh, what a beautiful day! I’ve got a beau—” You broke off in a squeal for the second time that day, as, for the second time, a pair of hands poked at you. “Come on, Sam!” you said, laughing a little, mock scolding. “Really, it isn’t _that_ fu—” You stopped, staring into blue eyes, which were watching you with a smile, but also a slight bit of anxiety. “C-Cas?” You cursed yourself for that stammer, and for the blush which you knew was spreading across your face.

“Yes, Y/N?” His smile faded, replaced by more concern. “Did I do that incorrectly?”

You shook your head. “No, Cas! You did it just right.” You smiled, wanting to show him you weren’t mad, and his expression lightened again.

“Good,” he said simply, and then he was tickling you like the boys had a little while ago. You started giggling again, unable to stop it. “C-Cas!”

He was laughing a little, too. Until now, you hadn’t heard him actually laugh, and it was a beautiful sound. “Yes?” he answered, stopping his fingers’ movement.

“Nothing,” you told him, and shook your head.

“All right.” He turned to leave, a smile still playing on his lips. Watching the smile, you tried very hard not to think about those lips. It didn’t work very well.

“Wait!” you blurted, before you could stop yourself.

He turned. “Yes?”

You hesitated, trying to think of something to say, and then asked a question that had been on your mind for a little while now. “Why did you start role playing? I mean, you already _are_ yourself, and this _is_ your life. Why would you want to play a game of it, too?”

“So that I could get to know the people who played,” he answered, and, for some reason, the way he said it made you blush a little again.

“Oh.”

He seemed to sense that you had more questions. “What is it?” he asked, blue eyes seeming to pierce through you.

“I, um… Well, getting to know the people seems like a good reason—I mean, you told me how into psychology you are—but, um…” You definitely couldn’t keep the blush away now. “Why…why did you suggest having a romance between our characters? I mean, you’re _you_ , really. Didn’t it feel…weird?”

“Did it feel strange to you?” he asked, looking suddenly uncertain.

“No!” you said hastily, and then could have kicked yourself. You wanted to reassure him, of course, but you also didn’t want to give away how much you had actually liked it, nor the feelings you harbored. Not when he really _was_ Cas.

He looked relieved, though. “I am glad of that.”

You looked at him in some surprise. “You are?”

“Yes.” He looked like he was hesitating, and then said carefully, “Perhaps I ought to explain. You see… Dean told me to suggest the romance. He said…” He frowned, apparently trying to remember, and then continued, “He said that it would be a sort of test, before ‘the next step.’”

You found your heart was beating very hard. “Next step?”

Cas nodded. “Yes. He did not tell me precisely what that was to be, but…the end goal was quite clear.”

“And…what was that?” you asked, almost whispering, trying not to hope too hard.

“I wished— _wish_ —to have a romantic relationship with you. If…if that is what you want.”

For a long moment, you stared at him, feeling almost as shocked as when you first saw his face on your computer screen. Finally, you managed, “ _Me?_ Are you sure? I mean…I mean of course I’d love that, but…”

He smiled a little. “Yes.” His hand came to cup your cheek, and he looked a bit cautious, watching for your reaction, as he continued, “While I was talking to you on the Internet, I felt intrigued by you, and as we continued to converse, I began to feel…different. Dean tells me that those feelings are romantic in nature. And,” he continued, more quietly, “I must admit that when we were writing about kisses and such things, I wanted very much to try them in the flesh.”

“Me, too,” you breathed, and then he was leaning down, and gently pressing his mouth to yours.

It was everything you had written about and more. But the best thing about it by far was that it was _real._

* * *

Cas helped you wash the rest of the dishes, stopping every couple of minutes to kiss you—which you certainly weren’t going to complain about, even if it did slow you down.

Of course, the problem with being slow, which you had been a little too…preoccupied…to foresee, was that the Winchesters knew how long it ought to take to wash dishes, and so when you had hit the fifteen-minute mark after you should have been done, they came in to see what was taking so long.

Naturally, they happened to walk in just as Cas was kissing you again. You were enjoying the sensation of his lips on yours, when you suddenly heard a noise from behind you. You leapt away from your angel and whirled around, seeing Sam staring at the two of you with raised eyebrows and a smirk, and Dean sniggering.

You sighed. “Hi, guys.”

“Hey, there. You seem… _busy_ ,” commented Dean, winking at you.

Sam added, “But not washing dishes like you said you were.” He grinned. “Still, looked to me like you were having a pretty good time.”

You blushed deeply, but were unable to help laughing as you said, “Be quiet.”

Dean and Sam both started to laugh as well. “In your dreams,” retorted the older Winchester.

You looked over at Cas to see what he made of all this, only to find him looking adorably confused again. “Why would Dean be quiet in your dreams—oh. Because you’re sleeping. Of course.”

That took you a minute to decipher, but it made you laugh. “Not exactly, Cas. ‘In your dreams’ is something people say when they mean that whatever you’re talking about will never happen. It’s like saying, ‘That won’t happen in real life, so it’ll only happen in your dreams.’” You watched his face to see if he understood, and then, remembering that he didn’t dream, added, “When people want something badly, sometimes they dream about it.”

Cas nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “I see...” There was a pause, and then he announced seriously, “If I dreamed, I would have dreamed about you, then.”

You blushed again, a smile spreading across your face, both at what he said, and the utmost solemnity with which he said it. A statement like that would have been a mere flattery from anyone else. From Cas, who didn’t understand flirting and had no idea what effect his words would have, nor how cliché it was to say such things, it was a declaration that must be completely true. Ignoring Dean’s gagging sounds and Sam’s laughter, you put your arms around his neck. “I dreamed about _you_ ,” you told your angel. That was true, too. You had, too many times to count.

He smiled widely and leaned down to kiss you.

Separating after a few minutes, you found that the boys had apparently gotten bored of watching you kiss Cas. You weren’t at all surprised that you hadn’t been aware of their departure, even though they had more than likely made more noise than a herd of elephants—at least Dean probably had. Sam, you suspected, could go either way, depending on whether he was feeling mischievous or tactful. But it didn’t matter. You had discovered that the cliché you’d heard so often was very true. Kissing Cas, you wouldn’t have noticed or cared if the aforementioned herd of elephants had stampeded right past you, nor if you’d been put on the back of one of them and carried away, as long as he was with you.

He took your hand a little uncertainly, and you laced your fingers together. “You wanna go somewhere we can sit down?” you asked, and he smiled.

“If you’d like.”

You nodded, and he pulled you gently into the room with the couch that you’d been in the first day you arrived. Remembering how stunned you had been, you laughed as you sat down, snuggling up to Cas.

“What are you laughing at?” he asked curiously, pulling you close and starting to run his fingers through your hair.

Grinning, you answered, “Thinking about the day I got here. You could’ve knocked me over with a feather.” Knowing the look that would be on his face, and that he’d be opening his mouth to ask, you added, “It means…I was shocked.” Your grin turned a bit sheepish, and you added, “I think I picked that expression—about the feather—up from books. I don’t know that anyone actually says that.”

You felt his nod. “I see, I think.”

Your eyes, drifting aimlessly, found the same pillow you’d examined that first day right next to you, and you grinned again, running your fingers over it, contemplating the way you had inspected every stitch on it, hardly able to believe that it was real. This line of thought brought you to what you had been talking about with him a little while ago, about dreams. You _had_ dreamed of him, and daydreamed, and generally gotten lost in fiction and in your role playing. And that had been wonderful. But you were finding, to your joy, that it did not even come close to the actual thing.

“Cas?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad you’re real.”

There was a smile in his voice as he replied softly, “I am glad that you’re real, too.”

And you smiled, as well, as you sat up and kissed your completely real angel.


End file.
